


take warning, we should be kind (sunsets)

by twobirds (deuxoiseaux)



Category: Band of Brothers, The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-War, Established Relationship, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-09 19:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deuxoiseaux/pseuds/twobirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe grunts, a low hiss through his teeth as Snafu's elbow catches him in the groin; Snafu mouths an apology at the base of Joe's throat, lips catching the beads of sweat gathering in the hollow between collarbones. / basically just an excuse for goodbye blowjobs, lbr</p>
            </blockquote>





	take warning, we should be kind (sunsets)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amorekay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorekay/gifts).



> vague sequel to [attends disaster](http://archiveofourown.org/works/452396).
> 
> as the warmth of the sun leaves my back  
> and these bruise-coloured skies turn to black  
> none of these faces look the same  
> and not a one knows my name  
> \- [names](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=12or1Zimwps), radical face

The fit of their bodies on the cramped front seat bench is awkward and twisted, one that multiplies their angles and makes them sharper, more inclined to find the few soft places they've recovered even so many years after their war. Joe grunts, a low hiss through his teeth as Snafu's elbow catches him in the groin; Snafu mouths an apology at the base of Joe's throat, lips catching the beads of sweat gathering in the hollow between collarbones. His grip is strong and purposeful and sure. There is no hesitation, not that there was much to begin with - it's familiar, almost habitual now.

Joe struggles, though, wiggling to get his arm out from beneath their combined weight; his fingers have gone numb from lying on it so long. His elbow flies free to mash into the steering wheel, car horn blaring, sounding strange out here on the side of the road with nothing to bounce back on — still they jump, making startled, half-abortive motions, reaching for a gun that isn't there.

Snafu exhales, loud in the silence, and then snorts with sudden laughter. Joe flexes his fingers as feeling races back in pins and needles, and joins him, his own laugh too loud and awkward, crackling in his ears. 

In the fading sunlight, he sees only the barest flash of a genuine smile curling up the corners of Snafu's mouth — genuinely happy, as if he actually _likes_ Joe, with no trace of mockery or slow, glittering anger lighting his eyes — before Snafu buries his face in Joe's shoulder, still shaking all over. He can't hear Snafu's laugh, even this close, just feels the breath leaving his lungs in hitches, the movement of his whole body. Slowly, he calms, sighing warm across Joe's throat. " _Fuck_ ," he sighs, and,

Snafu shifts his body, then, hand sliding back into Joe's open trousers, just as Joe gets his own free hand under the far too loose waistband on Snafu's pants. Snafu's grip falters for only a fraction of a heartbeat before Joe feels the stretch of Snafu's smile against his bared skin, a predator's grin with bared teeth. This could easily devolve into a fight, to hurt and be hurt, to spill blood and split skin. As it is, it's already too rough and Joe should not be as hard as he is, from the warm hand slicked with precome around his cock and the thought of Snafu with a bloody mouth, and bruises on his knuckles.

Joe twists his wrist on the upstroke; the angle is all wrong, and his wrist burns already, but it's worth it when Snafu makes an odd choking noise. The noise happens again, and Snafu's rhythm slows, then stops entirely, fingers a loose ring. Joe pushes his hips up, neck straining as he turns his head to scrape his teeth across Snafu's jaw; catches his attention, brings him back. He leans away and shoves Joe's hand off, a determined glint in his eye. Joe spreads his legs a little wider. By now he knows what that means. 

Snafu sits back on his heels, after, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. There's a wet spot spreading in the front of his pants, his hair's standing up in tufts where Joe had gotten a good grip on it, and his lips obscenely plump and red. "Something to remember me by, Joseph," he murmurs, licking the corner of his mouth lazily. Joe tracks the movement with his eyes, can't help it. 

When he meets Snafu's eyes, he's startled to see the strangest expression on his face — amused, a bit grave, and unexpectedly... affectionate. Must have been a trick of the light, Joe thinks, because the look is gone in the split-second it takes to blink, replaced with something guarded. Neutral. 

They straighten up a bit, then Joe turns the car on and puts it into gear, backs out of the alley he'd driven into, and continues to the train station. In the parking lot, Snafu pauses and sits completely motionless for a moment too long, eyes closed and head tipped back against the seat. Then he exhales loudly, grabs his bag from between his knees. "See you around," he says, and leaves before Joe can even his mouth to say goodbye. 

Joe rolls his window down and hollers after him, "Make sure you don't break my window next time," and Snafu half-turns on his way inside the station, middle finger raised in a lazy, rude salute. "Fucker," Joe mutters, and ignores the flickers of fondness deep inside his chest.


End file.
